"The misunderstandings that underpin the plot become stretched, but Mínervudóttir's short, focused novel (her first to be translated into English, by Sarah Bowen) is a gripping, enjoyably offbeat drama." - James Smart, The Guardian

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The Creator brings together Sveinn, a craftsman living in Akranes, a town about 50 kilometers from Reykjavík, and the single mother of two girls, Lóa, who lives in the Icelandic capital.
She gets a flat in front of his house, and winds up drinking too much and sleeping it off at his place.
In the morning she discovers what he does -- he makes high-quality, hand-crafted, life-size sex dolls -- and impulsively drags one of the dolls (they weigh about fifty kilos) off before he wakes up.
Sveinn parlayed his art college graduation project -- a prototype doll -- into a successful career ("Admirable or demeaning, depending on how you looked at it"), but all is not well.
He gets anonymous calls from someone who has taken to attacking him (and he then long suspects that Lóa is the mystery-caller), and he also lives a relatively friendless, isolated life, with no one in his life beyond less-than-even-casual acquaintances Kjartan (a customer -- and the one who was supposed to get the missing doll) and Kjartan's friend, Lárus.
All is not well with Lóa, either, and not just because she buried her father a week earlier.
She also explains to Sveinn: "Both my daughters have lost their grip, although they’ve barely started out on life".
Ína is seven, and a bit of a handful, but it's older daughter Margrét, the fifteen-year-old anorexic -- all skin and bones, "like a chick just hatched from an egg" -- that really worries her.
In her desperation, she figures the doll might be some sort of useful companion figure for the girl who is wasting away.
In neat symmetry, it is Margrét who then goes missing -- and Sveinn who shows up at Lóa's house, to reclaim his doll.
The chapters in The Creator alternate between focusing on Sveinn's perspective, and on Lóa's, with some overlap, repeating several scenes and showing how each (mis)understands events as they unfold -- a fairly effective technique (that Guðrún fortunately does not over-use).
This is a novel of damaged souls, from the completely broken Margrét, to flailing Sveinn and Lóa.
Accidents -- Lóa's flat tire and then Sveinn's tumble while changing a lightbulb, leaving him with a broken collarbone -- force a bit of contact with outsiders, while their excesses -- alcohol and painkillers, respectively -- are excuses for them to crash at (each) others' houses.
Mutual suspicion keeps them at some distance, but eventually everything gets cleared up, with both doll and daughter reunited with their creators.
It's not really a happy ending -- these souls are too damaged for there to be any sort of quick fix -- but they're all a bit clearer as to where exactly they stand and what the future might hold (including Sveinn recognizing that maybe it's time to move beyond doll-making).
The Creator doesn't overdo it with its quirky elements, remaining surprisingly grounded for a novel in which silicone dolls play such a prominent role -- yes, there is a sex scene, but even that is effectively understated.
The story is quite well told and presented -- fairly simple, it has both charm and packs a decent emotional punch.
Quite well done.